Those of the Margin: a Paranormal Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 2) (24 page)

"You," the strange woman said to him as she pulled off the plastic gloves from her hands, "need to be cleansed."

Matthew was scared, but he felt that screaming or trying to run away would end poorly for him. He let the strange woman cover his mouth with thick, black tape and didn't try pulling away when she grabbed him by his arm and led him away from his mom, down the stairs, and into her car.

"Know this," the woman told him once she bound his arms and legs and placed him lying down in the backseat of the car, "'let every person be quick to listen and slow to speak.' James 1, verse 19."

Matthew wasn't sure what she meant but figured that the woman wasn't interested in hearing anything he had to say.

When the car stopped, and the woman turned off the car, she turned to Matthew and told him to not move a muscle. Matthew thought that it was silly for her to say that since the woman put so much black tape on his arms and legs that even if he wanted to move, he wouldn't be able to. Knowing that she didn't want to hear his thoughts, he just nodded in agreement.

She dragged him much too fast from the car and into her house. Though Matthew felt better being inside the warm house, and despite all that he had been through since the strange woman barged into his home, once he was tossed to the carpeted floor was when he started to get really scared. Though the room was poorly lit, Matthew could see the statues and the paintings clearly enough. When he saw the bloodied, life-like face of the man pinned to a wooden cross – the man's body torn, ripped open, bloody, and twisted in a horrible display of pain – Matthew started to cry.

"That's right," the woman said when she noticed his tears and the look of terror in his eyes as he started at the seven-foot high crucifix in the corner of her living room, "it is only by His blood that you can be saved. You need to be quiet. I expect more company and have much to do to prepare."

#####

Jack rushed over to Matthew as soon as he recognized the small boy lying on the floor. He feigned a smile as he looked into Matthew's eyes.

"I got ya," he said. "Everything will be okay soon. We need to get you back with your mom. She misses you, you know."

"How sweet," Rita said, the corner of her lips curling in a twisted, ironic half-smile. "The half-breed uncle and his filthy-blooded nephew sharing the same fantasy." She turned her head towards Robby, keeping her eyes on the filth in front of her. "Get over next to your father," she said to Robby, who was quick to move closer to his father and to his cousin whom he never knew existed. "So much filth in one small place," Rita said.

"Mother, let Robby and Matthew go. I'm here to help you. You don't need them anymore."

"Oh, how right you are," Rita said, lowering her shotgun towards the floor. "They are not needed by anyone, and I am glad you see that, Jack. It troubles me, though. To know what runs through your veins. It troubles me, Jack."

"Mother, no matter what you think, no matter who you think is supporting you, what you are doing or planning on doing is wrong. Absolutely wrong."

Rita raised the shotgun quickly to her shoulder and positioned her finger on the trigger. "Don't convince me that you are beyond repair, Jack. You know you are of evil seed, but you also were born from me. There's hope for you, Jack but your words betray and reveal a deeper evil."

"Do you think I wouldn't remember what you did? Did you think that I wouldn't have kept it all in my memories? You blamed my father for your own disease. You didn't support him when he needed your help. Instead, you just told him he was evil and needed to cleanse himself from his evil. But you knew all along, didn't you, mother? That you were the one who needed the help. But you had too much pride to ask for help."

"The Lord sustains me and provides for all my wants and needs," Rita demanded, lifting the shotgun's sights into her line of sight.

"You killed my father because you are sick, and now you need help, mother. Look at me," Jack said, slowly rising to his feet, his palms held out in a defensive submission. "I came here to help you. Please, let me help you."

"You came here to keep evil alive in this world. Your evil seed and the filthy evil seed of your sister's sin."

"What dad did was wrong. Inexcusable. But his sin didn't make Matthew guilty of anything. Please, Mom, let Robby and Matthew go."

"Your father's filth runs in his blood, in his cells, in his brain," Rita screamed. "He is the product of sin, the result of Satan's handiwork. Let Matthew and Robby go? I will let them go. If only to see your father and
his
master." Rita's face softened, and her voice calmed as she lowered the shotgun towards the floor. "You still don't remember, do you, Jack? You don't remember what you saw that day in the basement?"

"Mother," Jack's voice was even and cut with a tone of hatred, "I didn't see anything in the basement. Nothing like you say I did."

"But you did see it, Jack. You know it, and I know it, too. You know that what your father had in the basement that night is what he tried the rest of his pathetic life to forget about. You saw it, Jack. You watched him when he didn't know you were watching."

"Mother," Jack said taking a strong step towards Rita, who responded only by raising the shotgun's barrel towards Jack's chest, "Dad drank too much because of you. You drove him to drink. You drove him to give up on us. You killed my father twice, once with your sickness and the second time with my baseball bat."

"Jack, tell Matthew and Robby what you saw your father doing in the basement that evening. Tell them, Jack. I'm sure they would love to know what evil runs in their blood."

"I didn't see anything, you sick, twisted bitch."

Had Rita used the .12-gauge shotgun she kept beneath her bed, or if she had used a buck shot instead of a slug, Jack would have been killed by the shot. Instead, the hot, burning slug of lead tore through his shoulder, blowing apart each muscle, tendon, and ligament as it raced to its bone-stopping conclusion. The force knocked him back several feet, tripping over his still-bound and gagged nephew. Jack's head smacked hard against the metal feet of the seven-foot replication of Jesus hanging on the life-sized crucifix in the corner of Rita's living room.

"Language like that will not, will never be allowed in this house. Not from you, not from anyone," Rita said. And she pumped another slug into ready position.

#####

Maggie's feet were turning numb. Though thankful that the numbness was pushing away the searing pain, she knew that pain was better than numbness. Had she planned better, she would have dressed in several layers, worn the pink woolen hat she had bought for herself as a Christmas gift just a few weeks ago, and would have been certain to put on her warm, fur-lined boots. But she wasn't thinking about her warmth when she snuck out of St. Mark's rectory. She wasn't considering the possibility that her travels would include a near mile-long walk on the snow- and ice-covered Marginal Way. She hadn't even entertained the thought that the meteorologists would actually get this storm's forecast right and that the temperature would actually drop below zero before the storm was finished. No, all she thought about was finding Robby and getting him away from Jack.

The walk from Perkins Cove to Jack's mother's house was under a mile, a distance that she could make with ease on any other day. But with her emotions sapping most of her energies and the frigid cold sucking out what energies were left, the walk was brutal. It took no more than five minutes for her feet to start screaming in frozen pain and another two before her ears and fingertips burned beneath the blistering cold wind. But Robby was there, she hoped. She had to press on and ignore her pain.

She had no plan to follow if, when arriving at Jack's mother's house, she found Robby and Jack. She had no thoughts about her best approach. She only pressed forward, knowing, somehow, that Robby would be there and that she would find a way to get him to safety.

As she drew closer, she saw that the two tracks she had been following had turned to one track. She wondered if Jack began carrying Robby or if, like earlier with Derek, if she was following the tracks of a spirit.

"
Derek,"
she thought to herself.
"Where are you when I need you?"
Maggie cursed herself for thinking about Derek, for she knew that she wanted him beside her not only to help in rescuing Robby, but for other reasons as well. She felt better when around him, stronger, more capable. She chided herself when she caught herself wondering if, after Robby was safe and she had left Jack, if she and Derek could actually be something, together.

She knew that he felt something for her, and despite her being emotional, exhausted, and consumed with concern for her son, she knew that Derek's feelings were far from unrequited. Thinking about Derek and of what may come as a result of their meeting gave her hope as she drew closer to her destination. She felt consoled that her very thoughts of what might happen after everything was over suggested to her that everything would be over soon. Robby would be safe, Jack would be in jail, and Jack's mother would be wherever it may be that Jack's mother belonged.

#####

She was relieved, somehow, to see that the second set of tracks had returned just a few feet away from the backdoor.

"Robby," she whispered. "Mommy's coming."

She peered through the small vertical opening between the two small curtains on the inside of Rita Bryant's backdoor. Though the room the door opened into was pitch black, Maggie was sure she could see movement in the room beyond the kitchen. A single candle was filling the adjoining room with a yellowish light and was struggling to remain upright against some unseen draft. She paused as her hand met the doorknob and steeled herself against whatever she was about to walk into. Maggie felt that Rita Bryant was deranged. Her sickness, guised under a religious cloak, failed to hide the darkness that Maggie felt poured from Rita. The candle's flicker only added to Maggie's ill feelings about the owner of this house, as it danced about the room as if driven by a callous and evil breath.

Maggie's only focus was to get Robby to a safe place, no matter what happened to her during her mission. She quickly turned away from the door and backed away, keeping her sights fixed on the small opening in the curtains to be sure no one had seen her and was charging after her. When she was far enough way, she turned and bounded over the snow to a nearby tree. She broke off several small branches and then laid them out onto the snow in the shape of three arrows, each pointing to the next with the final arrow pointing toward Perkins Cove. She hoped that if things went terribly wrong in the house that Robby would be able to get outside, see the arrows, and make it to Father John's car.
 

As she placed the final arrow, she cursed at the snow, demanding that it not cover her markers. She had just turned back to the house when she saw the brilliantly brief flash of light fill the back room of Rita's house, followed all to quickly with the bang.

"Oh, my God," she said, and she sprinted towards the door.

#####

Derek heard the blast though he wasn't sure if he could trust his trained ears, as the suspected sound was buried among wiping winds, crashing waves, and his own labored breathing. But, despite his doubts, Derek took off towards the sound. He stumbled once his feet left the paved path and reached the uneven and sloped ground that would lead him to the house. His shoulder and arm ached as he quickened his step, each jarring step sending shooting pain down his right arm and up through his neck.

"Stop," John called from behind. "You need to stop."

Derek turned to see John struggling to follow his path.
 

"I heard a gunshot from the house."

"I know what you heard, I heard it too. But running towards someone with a gun doesn't seem smart to me. Do you even have a gun with you?"

"I didn't bring it."

"Then you're running towards your death. We need a plan, and we need it quick."

"Maggie and Robby are up there," Derek said, pointing above the crest and towards the row of homes framing the Marginal Way.

"And running towards them will not help them at all. Come back here, and let's figure this out," John said calmly.

Derek, now more fully aware of his pain after the adrenalin had diminished, moved slowly, reluctantly back to the snow-covered path. He motioned to John to follow him.

"Let's head up to the spot Ron's telescope was aimed at. Maybe our plan is waiting for us there."

The two walked another 50 feet until they reached the crest of the hill where Derek and Maggie had shared a near-intimate moment earlier in the day. As they approached the spot, Derek's thoughts drifted to Maggie. He still had no idea where she was and was still consumed with worry about Robby and the young boy that Jack was suspected of abducting, but he couldn't push the thought of Maggie's eyes from his mind's eye.

"Tracks," John exclaimed, stealing Derek away from the thoughts he wished he weren't thinking. "There are tracks leading off the path and towards that house," John said as he pointed to the tracks, then held his arm and extended finger towards the house set back 30 yards from the Marginal Way.

#####

Mark Irish was quickly regretting his decision to walk to Rita Bryant's home. The two-mile walk to the Marginal Way was challenging, despite his 12-year commitment to keeping to a regimented and demanding workout routine. Once he reached the Marginal Way, his legs were already exhausted from plowing their way through the heavy snow. As he began following the tracks in the snow, the cold wind dragged what little strength he had left out of his body and the drive from his determination.

He knew that no matter what he came face to face with at the end of his snowy trek, that he would face it alone. At best, it would take a trooper 15 minutes to traverse to Rita's house in the storm. Realistically, he thought as he continued his follow, if he needed backup, he'd be waiting for closer to 30 minutes.

Mark grew up outside of Bangor, Maine and was no stranger to cold winds and heavy snow squalls. But this storm was different from any he could remember: The snow was a heavy and dangerous mix of snow and sleet. "Heart attack snow," his father used to call it. "Old men and out-of-shape, middle-aged men think they can shovel their driveway, and, whammo, snow's too damn heavy for their ticker to keep on ticking."